The Irishman (2019)

So, here we are. If you're reading this review, you've seen The Irishman. If you haven't seen it, you're not treating yourself to good cinema. 3 1/2 hours of it, and believe me, you'll be honored to have set aside that time to watch it all. Only one man in the history of the medium can make incredible films that last this long. The one and only. Marty. I love you. We all love you. You've had a hell of a run these past 50 years. It's not possible to have you around for another 50, but what more you can give to us in the years to come is enough.. and yet, The Irishman feels like your swan song. The end of lifetime of gangsters, guns, crime, incessant cursing and violence that splatters the silver screen ruby red with blood. There will never be another GoodFellas, period. It's an all-time masterpiece like few films ever made since. It's one of those rare perfect films. If you are expecting The Irishman to be as good as that, you're making a huge mistake going in. This is not that. Whereas GoodFellas is a flashy, frightening tale of the ugliest underbelly of the Italian mafia, The Irishman is a Greek tragedy of betrayal and regret. In other words, the antidote to all of that debauchery. A rational, thinking person's point of view as to what it means to be a criminal. Was it worth it? Can you be forgiven? Can you even live with yourself knowing you've spent your entire life as one? The Irishman, in no few words and no rushed time, tells you how hard it is to answer these questions.

This is the story of Frank Sheeran. A WWII veteran and meat packer who gets involved with organized crime right from the very start. He provides a Philadelphia, Mafia owned restaurant with fresh cow's meat. When he is accused by the restaurant of stealing the meat from the delivery trucks, he solicits a Teamster attorney, Bill Bufalino (Ray Romano), to take up his case. Bufalino gets Sheeran off scott free. Dealing with wise guys, he's lucky he didn't lose his head. As Sheeran  celebrates at another Philly restaurant, Bill introduces him to Russel Bufalino (Joe Pesci), the Don of the Philadelphia Italian Mafia. Frank and Russell hit it off. Russel appoints Frank to be his hitman. As they say in secret, he "Paints Houses", and he's pretty good at it too. As a rising star in the Bufalino crime family, Russell eventually puts Frank in contact with a Bufalino associate and his personal friend. One Jimmy Hoffa, the president of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters. Frank lands the biggest break he's ever gotten in his life. He's going to be Jimmy Hoffa's fixer and hitman. Well, he's sunk himself so low. There's nowhere else to go but up. Frank is in the big leagues, and that's just where his troubles begin.

As Frank sinks deeper into the bog of the corrupt, violent power racket between The Bufalino crime family and Jimmy Hoffa, he realizes that his dual loyalties set him right in the middle of a growing war between the two. Hoffa isn't cooperating nicely with the fellow Teamsters, and Russell grows increasingly upset. Eventually, it all comes to a breaking point. Russell wants Jimmy Hoffa whacked. Internally, this becomes Frank's greatest challenge to date. Who's hitman does he want to become? Who's bridge is about to be burned?  Moreover, does it even matter, since he's essentially sold his soul to two devils? 

Character is key here, and in terms of performances, this is the Three Amigos of the Mob Genre at their very best. De Niro is great as Frank Sheeran. Delivering his dialogue with a shaky stutter throughout. Uncharacteristic of the tough guys he's played in the past. Sheeran is almost a reluctant gangster. Pesci as Russell Bufalino is quiet and calculative. A striking departure from the volcanic hot heads Pesci is so famous for playing. He reaches Brando-esque heights, capturing intimidation through subtly. The star of the entire film, however, is Al Pacino. He's on fire as Jimmy Hoffa. As over-the-top and loud as Pacino gets, and yet, that works so well for the larger than life Hoffa. A legendary performance for a legendary man that, no disrespect, triumphs over Jack Nicholson's performance of him in Hoffa. Additionally, much has been made about Anna Paquin’s portrayal of Frank’s daughter. Specifically her lack of dialogue. That wasn’t an afterthought, it was exactly the point. Frank’s daughter’s embarrassment and disgust at her father’s actions is represented through silence. This is indicative of human nature. When someone you love disappoints you, you can’t even bring yourself to look them in the eye, let alone say a word to them. Scorsese brilliantly understands that, and Paquin delivers her silent portrayal powerfully. She’s an unsung hero of the entire film.

The Irishman is a book in three incredibly long chapters. That being: Power, Betrayal and Regret, in that order. In Power, we see Frank's rise to Wise Guy glory, from the streets of Philly to the trenches of Washington D.C. We see how deep the rot of corruption truly is through the eyes of Jimmy Hoffa. Using the Mafia at his beckon call to get rid of anyone who gets in his way. Even going so far as rigging the 1960 Presidential election in John F. Kennedy's favor... which in all honesty, eh, take that with a grain of salt. In Betrayal, we witness Frank's fall, in which he agrees to deliver the biggest/worst hit of his life. In Regret, we see Frank at rock bottom as he crawls on broken glass for his daughter's forgiveness. Scorsese gracefully weaves his behemoth of a story through these chapters. The runtime itself gives enough breathing room for us to digest every last action and breaths these characters take. Everything down to the last facial expression is crucial to what tells the story. It feels like it's in real time, but it's riveting all the while. In film history, this is truly unprecedented. We are getting greatness, and nothing less. 

Two moments stand out in my mind that define how great of a film The Irishman is. One, is the half-hour that builds up to the assassination of Jimmy Hoffa by Frank Sheeran. The climax. Truthfully, It's one of the best pieces of filmmaking I've ever seen. Scorsese, amazingly, captures the most agonizing moment in Frank Sheeran's life in slow-motion. Or at least, that's how it felt. It's embarrassing, cringe-inducing and painful to watch. We feel virtually all of it. A slow dreadful death march, essentially. In other mob films, it feels like a sucker-punch to the teeth when someone gets whacked. Not here. This one in particular arrives as real as death itself. Slowly and inevitably. The other moment is the final scene. Frank spends this last chapter of his life seeking a sense of closure that he never gets. Everybody is gone. A priest absolves him of his sins, and leaves him to rest for the night. Frank tells the priest to leave the door cracked for him before he goes. There it is. The final shot. Frank, all alone, with nothing but a crack in the door to comfort him. Instantly iconic. In that tender moment, we realize that it's all too late for Frank. He's made his peace with God, but to what avail? He's hurt every person in his life. He's left to die, alone. A lifetime, wasted.

My only gripe with The Irishman is that it was released on Netflix. Now that's a waste. This film demands to be seen in a theater, on a large screen, with a crowd of adoring cinephiles to clamor out of the theatre to discuss this in length when the credits roll. It's the best film of 2019. As far as the de-aging technology is concerned, it looks good for how infantile technology is at this moment. I’d suggest you not be too hung up on it. It doesn’t damper the experience, neither does it comprise the story. 5 STARS.